Back-to-School Conundrum

The clock is ticking down. Summer comes to a close in four days. Well, not technically. Autumn doesn't start till September 22nd, and Labor Day Weekend is still a week away. But for all intents and purposes, the season of extended warm-weather play ends on Wednesday, the first day of school in our town.

As it does every year, the first day brings a mix of emotions for parents. I am sad to say goodbye to sleeping late -- well, trying to anyway as one of my sons still gets up in the six o'clock hour, even when there's no school, grr -- the liberating feeling of not putting pressure on myself to accomplish much work-wise, and the ability to take off on guilt-free mini-vacations to camp or visit friends.

On the other hand, I am so ready to get back long child-free days. The boys' day camp ended two weeks ago, and I had to use one at our community center in another town a few times on a drop-in basis. Aside from that, I'd barely gotten a break from my sons since early August. And as any parent knows, the intense togetherness for an extended period of time can really wear on you!

"When does school start?" you want to scream.

The first day of classes means the weather will soon be getting cooler, for better or worse. No more dreadful heat waves (till next year, fingers crossed) during which my home reaches above-90-degree temperatures. September is traditionally a beautiful month in New England that actually suits me much better than those sweltering dog days of August. I have spent many great days at the beach in September enjoying smaller crowds and boogie boarding in the still-warm ocean.

The onset of the school year means it's time to buckle down once again after giving myself a much-needed pass this summer. In the early part of the year, I felt increasing stress that culminated the week I hit a deer on the road. (See "Hitting the Deer," 5/6/13.) That jolting experience caused me to pause, step back, and pay closer attention to what was going on around me. My mind was clogged with a lot of issues, not the least of which was the seemingly contentious relationship of my sons and how exhausting and frustrating it was for me to deal with singlehandedly. The accident did not bring me equilibrium -- more drama was in store the next day (when it rains, it pours, right?) -- but it did set me on a more positive path.

Indeed, two days after being shaken up I received news I'd been waiting for a long time. Charlie had been allowed to stay in a modeling agency he'd just been accepted into before having the Photoshoot From Hell. Two days after the Boston bombings -- and with helicopters hovering over a courthouse in lockdown only a mile away -- my seven year old incurred a freak accident of his own while returning to the photographer's studio in between outfit changes. He had completed one-third of the shoot when suddenly he tripped over the scooter he was half-carrying/half-riding down a cobblestone pedestrian walkway. (The scooter was being used as a prop.) I should have been paying closer attention since he was right in front of me, but I was chatting with the photographer.

My bad.

So down Charlie went, cutting and scraping his bare knee in the process. The injury was very painful. Hence, my son had trouble calming down. Eventually, he managed to get through the second-outfit shoot, though without smiling, before time ran out on us.

As I sat crumpled on a curb with my eyes averted, the next client -- a bubbly blond girl in a pretty spring dress -- skipped up with her excited mother. "How's it going?" she chirped.

"Fine," I gritted through my teeth.

The photographer had to take the chipper duo because it was now their time. But he very kindly finished with Charlie later in the day between clients. By then Charlie had eaten lunch and was feeling much better. He had a good third-outfit shoot. Still, I couldn't watch. I was just beside myself, knowing how much money, effort, and time had been put into this risky venture.

After speaking to an agent and sending her a photo of the scabbed knee one week later, it became clear that my son's status in (or out of) the agency would depend on how the photos turned out. The proof would be in the pudding, in other words. So you can only imagine my surprise, delight, and relief when three weeks later I received a call informing me that Charlie's pictures had come out "GREAT!" The people at the agency loved the shots and Charlie's look. "If he can take shots like that when he's upset, we definitely want him in the agency!" she exclaimed.

OMG. I could have cried tears of joy.

Coming when it did, the happy outcome did so much for me and Charlie because he knew what was going on, too. He understood that the photoshoot had gone very badly. He understood that I was very upset. And he understood that I was under a lot of pressure from many directions, and this situation was only adding to it. Indeed, a huge weight was lifted from both of our shoulders when I answered that wonderful call.

However, it was much less about Charlie being able to model as it was about something (anything!) going right for me/us at that particular time. This was the child whose behavior at times toward his brother at home and in public causes me so much grief. Charlie had come through! So very proud of ya'. I don't know how you did it, but your moody photos evoke a cool-dude seventeen year old posing for Polo Ralph Lauren or Abercrombie & Fitch.

Wow.

Getting a welcome resolution after being on pins and needles for three solid weeks parted the proverbial clouds of my stress-laden funk. I felt at peace and so much more content the rest of the school year, though it is always something of a pressure-cooker toward the end.

When our summer vacation finally rolled around in late June, I knew exactly how my family would spend it. We would have FUN because we all needed a break, and we would focus on US as a unit because our relationship to each other required it.

Fast forward two months: we achieved our goals. We made the most of our vacation, spending close to two weeks in Maine camping and attending a camp reunion of mine -- storms and heat waves be damned. We canoed, kayaked, and climbed small mountains. Christopher did a high-ropes course and tried many new sports: bumper tubing, ziplining, and stand-up paddleboarding. I tried the latter two for the first time. Charlie could have also but elected to play ga-ga with new friends in a large sand pit and build a stick tepee instead. Both boys auditioned for several modeling and acting jobs. (Christopher, in typical no-drama fashion, was also accepted into the agency.) Moreover, each landed a couple of acting gigs, paid or unpaid.

The dynamic between the brothers at home has drastically improved. They love each other yet have opposite energy levels. They clash when one wants to do something that the other doesn't. For my part, I can gauge what types of situations or activities likely lead to problems, so we can just avoid them. Or, by properly anticipating what might happen, I jump in to separate the boys before a conflict escalates. It's an ongoing learning experience for me and them, but we are definitely making good strides.

For being such a short summer, it was quite a satisfying one. I guess I am prepared to plunge into the school year. But please don't ask me to cut off my rope bracelet just yet!

Summer Scenes (Part II)

Summer Scenes (Part I)

A Day in the Life: Heat Wave!

The hottest day of the year in the Boston area was last Friday. The temperature reached a record-breaking 99 degrees, and the heat index -- a combination of air temperature and relative humidity that gauges just how hot it feels to a person -- made it seem more like 108. As if that wasn't bad enough, it was our sixth of seven 90-plus-degree days in a row! Hang on. That's not all. We have had several heat waves this year dating back to May 30. Memorial Day weekend, folks -- not even the official start of summer. Usually, Beantown gets a total of about fourteen days above 90 degrees each summer. We have reached that mark already, and the season is less than half over!

Ugh.

It's been brutal, to put it simply -- especially for those of us with no air conditioning in our homes or cars. With each successive sweltering day, it's just been a matter of pushing through it. Here's how we, as a family, dealt with July 19:

6:50 a.m.: I got up and found Christopher watching Wizards of Waverly Place.

7:00 a.m.: Charlie woke up. Knowing I wanted to watch the news and weather, Chris handed over the remote. I turned to Today.

The boys became very rowdy very quickly. Charlie was the instigator, of course. He's always the instigator. You would think in this heat that he might have felt sluggish. Not my seven year old! The child is wired differently than Chris and me. I often say that I'm not sure he even needs to eat as he doesn't appear to get his energy from food. (He doesn't consume a lot and never finishes a meal.) So slender Charlie tackled his huge nine-year-old brother. Chris protested as always, and I was reluctantly thrown into the position of referee.

I suggested they play a game. Charlie wanted to battle gogos (small, colorful plastic figurines) while Chris agreed to play Battleship, though he complained that Charlie cheats. I suggested they play cards with one of the small decks they got in their kids' meals at Burger King the night before. They tried, but it didn't work. Too much squabbling. They gave gogos a shot then Battleship, yet the brother power struggle -- probably exacerbated by the heat -- raged on. The thermostat read 87 degrees.

I had planned for the boys to come with me somewhere cool such as Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts until our favorite branch library opened at 10 a.m. While the boys hung out in the children's room playing computer games or others on their devices or (I could only hope) reading books, I would sit in a comfortable armchair in the adult room finishing (fingers crossed!) my four-days-late blog post. Then we would go back home to pick up our bathing suits before heading out to the community center we belong to in another town. We would spend the rest of the day there in and by the large outdoor pool. I would remember to bring lots of beach-type toys to hold Charlie's interest all the way until closing at 7 p.m. He got restless too early the day before, and we had to leave.

However, as is so often the case when children are involved, I changed my mind to adapt to the circumstances. I decided to send them to Summer Playground, their day camp at the elementary school. The kids would play outside on a field or the blacktop or maybe take refuge in the auditorium watching a movie -- each day is different -- but they could cool off with "post," breaks from the action during which they can purchase drinks and freeze pops. The heat combined with their irksome behavior had put my mood over the edge. I needed a break from them!

9:00 a.m.: Heading to Playground, the boys wore sunblock and their most breathable tee shirts and shorts. Each carried a bottle of water straight from the fridge and $1.50 for post. At dropoff, I talked to two counselors about not engaging the kids in vigorous sports that day.

12:00 p.m.: I picked up Chris and Charlie, and we drove to the air conditioned library. Yes! I had spent the morning at Starbucks working on my blog post. As expected, I hadn't been able to finish it. The heat was seriously seeping into my brain. I'd been having trouble concentrating for days. I was very unproductive! I could have caught more work time by sending the boys to Playground that evening -- it's closed in the afternoons -- but that would have meant extricating ourselves from the lovely pool and shady lawn of the community center thirty-seven minutes away. I didn't want to do that, and I couldn't bear to do that. We stayed at the library until we were all starving.

1:30 p.m.: The temperature in my eight-year-old SUV read 110 degrees! No joke. That's the highest I've ever seen it. The a/c broke long go. We swung by Pride's Deli and Pizzeria on the way to the community center. I never stop there, so I didn't know if they have a/c. There was no way in Heat Wave Hell we were staying for lunch at any place that didn't have air conditioning. Period. I popped my head in to ask. Affirmative. The deli has one window unit churning out glorious 60-degree air to the table in front of it. And that table was EMPTY. I snagged it faster than you can say Jack Robinson. (I don't know if anyone uses this antiquated phrase anymore. I haven't heard it said since childhood. Then again I'm quite old, which brings me to another reason why I needed -- and greedily took -- the prime seat directly in front of the unit: menopause. I can't tell if I have personally entered this dreaded female life phase, but I am at the frequently cited age of onset.) For the record, the boys did not object one iota to me taking the seat.

So there!

Needless to say, we took our dear, sweet time at lunch. Subs all around and chips and/or a cookie for the young ones. I made sure everyone chose a bottle of Dasani for maximum thirst-quenching, its cooling effect, and hydration. And I discouraged Chris from ordering a spicy sub because he would need more water to cool it down. (We were in, if not survival mode, then coping mode after all.) A mother of a boy in Charlie's grade walked in with her son, and we chatted. They had recently moved out of our town to a home with a pool. Jealous!

2:30 p.m.: Back to the air conditioning (I mean, library) for more blogging and children's room whatever. On our way in, we discovered a sprinkler watering the lawn and beautiful landscaping. We gratefully ran through it.

3:00 p.m.: Next stop: Orange Leaf, our favorite froyo spot, which happens to be conveniently located on the route to the community center. We filled our bellies some more with creamy, fruity, or sweet concoctions.

4:30 p.m.: Finally arrived at nirvana, otherwise known as the Jewish Community Center. (We are Christian, incidentally, like 60 percent of the other members of this terrific athletic, cultural, and educational facility. Go figure.) Anticipating our swim, I had put my clothes on over my bathing suit first thing in the morning; the boys changed at the library. My feeling about the pool on this day could not have been too unlike that of The Amazing Race finalists upon seeing host Phil Keoghan at the final "Pit Stop" during the last leg of the reality television game show: great relief at the end of a trying experience. Even better, I could see as we approached that the pool was empty. Adult Swim, hooray! I could immerse my sweaty self without worrying about children jumping on me or knocking into me. Hey, wait a minute! Why was the pool completely empty? Surely, many of the adults here also wanted to cool themselves off, didn't they? I was just about to dip a toe into the shallow end when I got my answer.

"You can't go in!" a woman blurted out in my direction.

"What? Isn't it Adult Swim?" I asked.

"No," came the reply. "No one can go in. The pool is closed because someone threw up in it."

"Ohhh!" I moaned. For the love of God. "How long is it going to be closed?"

"About fifteen minutes."

Just my luck. It had closed literally the moment we arrived. Only Charlie among the three of us was fast enough to get in the water before everyone was sent out by the lifeguards!

Fifteen minutes turned into forty-five as the throng of children and parents patiently waited. I had never experienced this situation before at the JCC -- we've been members for one year -- and to have it happen on the hottest day of the year, well, it was a tad annoying to say the least. It was not something, however, that I couldn't relate to on a personal level.

When I was a child growing up in Darien, Connecticut, I raced on our beach club swim team. Practices were long and tiring, and I frequently felt what I called "waterlogged." In other words, nauseous. I was on the verge of vomiting fairly often, and a couple of times I actually did . . . right in the pool in my lane. Our no-nonsense coach did not suffer fools gladly, however. So when I shyly approached him to tell him I was about to lose my lunch, his response was always a very unsympathetic: "GET IN THERE!"

Understandably, my teammates were disgusted, and they were very vocal about it. "Oh, GROSS! Shelby threw up in the pool!" they shouted. Still, our coach -- nicknamed The Silver Fox for his shiny, gray slicked-back hair and deeply tanned skin -- was unmoved. He nonchalantly wandered over to the long-handled bug scooper and lifted out the floating glutinous mess, which he ceremoniously dumped into the shower drain at the pool entrance. A yank of the long metal chain washed away the vomit. No closing of the pool. Swim team practice must continue! Following my public humiliation, I was allowed to leave, my mother trailing close behind.

5:15 p.m.: The JCC pool reopened! After the long day, make that LONG WEEK, I couldn't wait any longer to cool off. So imagine my disappointment when I found the water to be, gasp, lukewarm. Not quite bathwater but not refreshing either. Don't misunderstand me. I don't want to sound like I'm complaining because I am beyond grateful to have access to this awesome pool. It's just that the outdoor shower nearby turned out to be the water source that did the trick. (Major shout-out to the woman who tipped me off!) The shower was deliciously COLD. If I closed my eyes for a moment and blocked out the adult chatter and laughter and squeals of kids splashing in the shallow end, I could imagine myself being washed over by a pristine mountain waterfall. The deserving reward following a strenuous hike -- or an endless day during a heat wave.

The boys had plenty to do while I relaxed on a comfortable lounge chair under a tree. They swam, slurped Popsicles, and played games: ping pong, S'Mores The Card Game, and King's Corner. We ordered Caesar salads for dinner because there was no way in Heat Wave Hell that I was cooking in our residential sauna. Not surpringly, we were the last members to leave at closing.

8:35 p.m.: Back at the house, I asked the boys if they wanted to sleep in the tent in the backyard. They said "sure." The temp inside had risen to a stifling 94 degrees, so I expected a rough night for all of us. I sleep downstairs where it's cooler, but the boys have a ceiling fan. Problem: it can only be run on "low." They broke it last year playing a game in which a large, empty Easter basket is hung from one of the whirling blades while they, standing on their respective twin beds, try to toss tennis balls into the basket. Eventually, the weight of the balls snapped a blade. Argh. When set on "high" or "medium," the fan with its unbalanced blades now clatters and shakes furiously as if it's about to separate from the ceiling and fly around the room like a helicopter! It could do someone serious damage if it came loose. That's why it must be kept on "low" or "off."

The previous two nights had been quite comfortable outside despite the daytime heat. They would have been perfect for camping. This night, on the other hand, still felt unbearably sticky. It was almost dark, but I can pitch our tent very fast. So I got to work pronto. First, I carried the ground cloth, tent, tent poles, sleeping bags, and sleeping pads out of the house and stacked them on two lounge chairs in the yard. I opened up the kelly green plastic sheet and spread it out on the grass near the swingset. I snapped the four tent poles together and set the yellowish orange North Face tent on the ground cloth. But after slipping only two tent poles through their sleeves, I had to quit. I couldn't take it anymore. I was being ATTACKED by mosquitoes! They were all over me, attracted to my sweat and my O blood type. (I read about that recently.)

I hated giving up on the idea of camping, yet the air like the pool water was just too hot. Too hot in the house. Too hot outside the house. There was no way around it. Before dismantling my half-erected portable shelter, I needed a second and third opinion. So I called on my trusty soldiers. The boys weren't perspiring as much as me because they had not just been putting up a tent. Still, they agreed that the annoying critters were especially bad this night. "Okay, that's it," I announced. "We're not sleeping out tonight."

9:00 p.m.: Christopher and Charlie went to bed.

11:30 p.m.: I hit the sack after watching TV, doing Facebook, and taking a cold shower.

Ahhhh!!!

Vacation Box of Chocolates: Part II (Sebago Lake Yo-Yoing)*

Going on a vacation is always an exciting experience. I suppose the trip could go smoothly -- no traffic jams, forgotten belongings, bee stings. I'm sure I've even had those kinds of trips. BC. Before Children. But that was in the distant past . . . a decade ago and more. No, my trips -- like my daily life as a full-time single mother of two young boys -- are hopping with drama.

Our first trip of the summer took place this week. School didn't get out until noon on June 27th. By that time (very, very late for the uninformed), I was as fried as a McDonald's onion ring. I desperately needed to get away and just chillax . . . by a lake . . . in the shade . . . with a pretty view. I planned to take my sons camping because nothing makes me happier than sleeping in a tent. (I know. I'm not your typical mom.)

Camping isn't something you can do on a moment's notice, however. Well, it could be, but you would likely find yourself unprepared -- as in, without raingear in a downpour or minus milk for your cereal. You get my drift. We couldn't take off on Friday, the 28th because I hadn't yet made preparations. Christopher, my older son, was planning to attend a friend's birthday party on Saturday. Since my kids' social engagements are a priority, I resolved to leave Sunday. My younger son can be a very good little helper. He came with me as I shopped for food during the birthday party.

I was psyched. Unfortunately, I neglected one thing: to check the weather in Casco, Maine, where we were headed. Lol. Pretty important item on the to-do list, I'd say! Actually, it was my second time this season making this particular sloppy error. The first time we were tenting it in our backyard. I set up my twenty-five-year-old dome-style Northface and tucked the boys into their sleeping bags then sat down to call up weather.com. Rain, thunder, and lightning forecast for the night. Argh. Did I wake the boys to tell them to come in? No. Did I put the fly up over the tent? Nah. Too lazy. I crawled into my own bag and went to sleep. Sure enough rain started dripping on me through the leaky seams just after 3 a.m. I know what time it was because I listened to the tolling of the church bells in my town. Chris woke up because he was also getting wet. We nudged Charlie awake, and I sent the boys inside. Wouldn't you know it? The rain stopped a few minutes later, so I went back in the tent -- this time to Charlie's middle position, which had stayed dry.

So here I was again past the point of no return (not really, but I was in my mind) in my trip preparations -- supermarket, gas station, and ATM stops made and bag packing begun -- before I checked the weather. I'd had a recollection it was supposed to be poor but neglected to watch a recent TV report.

Packing the car took half of Sunday. Our first stop was a KFC/Taco Bell combo in Seabrook, NH, on the Massachusetts border about one hour from our home. We always stop there on trips to eastern New Hampshire or Maine. I'm not sure exactly how the subject of Charlie's iPod Touch came up. But the issue of its whereabouts was likely raised by me after my younger son started pestering his brother to hand over his own. (My older son waited until he was nine before getting the device; Charlie got his at seven because his brother's was a frequent source of power struggles between the two.) "Why don't you play your own, Charlie?" I probably asked. Silence. "Charlie? You do know where it is, don't you?"

"It's somewhere around here. No, Christopher has it." A moment later: "You put it in your purse, Mama."

Uh-oh.

My pulse started to race as the too-familiar thought of ANOTHER LOST ITEM (worse, A VERY EXPENSIVE LOST ITEM) kicked in. A back and forth exchange between the three of us ensued but led nowhere in helping me determine where the iPod Touch had last been seen. It was way too early in the trip to be having our first dramatic situation and not long after five items went missing from four communities in four consecutive days (truth!) -- raincoat at pizza place, backpack at school, baseball mitt at field, and blah blah). My patience level, in other words, was at -50. Pulling off an exit of I-95 North and into a side road, I parked in front of someone's house then launched into a search of the backseat. I was very aggravated, however, so I did only a cursory probe not a thorough going-through like the North Attleboro police in Aaron Hernandez's mansion.

Nothing.

Now in full-on Hunter-Downer Mode (see "Hunter-Downer Mom," 3/21/12), I ordered everyone back into the car. We were going to retrace our steps. We had several more hours of daylight with which to reach our destination and set up camp, and I knew I would be furious with myself if I didn't try to track down Charlie's $199 (not including tax) birthday present. Heading south with intentions of stopping at KFC/Taco Bell and Starbucks (where I'd obtained a much-needed coffee drink), I suddenly heard Charlie call out, "I found it!"

Relief.

We lost half an hour of driving time and $1.50 in tolls, but we had it in our possession. We didn't need to make the two extra stops. The saga was over. (I wasn't foolish enough to believe that it would be our only saga, however.)

The rest of the drive to Sebago Lake was happily uneventful until the final stretch when lightning lit up the sky. It started raining as I drove up to the campground entrance. Are you kidding me? Let me tell you: it's not a great feeling to BEGIN setting up your tent for your young children in the lightning and rain. It was not looking good for the night. The last thing I wanted was to kick off this multi-day trip -- I wasn't sure how many days it was going to be, but I'd brought enough food for a week -- with a wet tent and soggy bedding! So I conferred with the campground staff at the entrance then turned my vehicle all the way around to search for a motel.

The first place we checked out had stuffy rooms. Despite being called an "inn," the second wound up being a residential care facility (assisted living). The boys got a huge kick out of the euphemism. It became a running joke every time we passed by the place. The third felt Goldilocks just right. It was pretty late by this time, and I was wiped out from packing, driving, and the heat. We made a dinner of strawberries and yogurt then hit the sack.

The next day was cloudy but no precipitation. Trying to be optimistic, I drove to the campground and obtained a site for one night. (I have learned the hard way that reserving ahead of time for multiple nights can come back to bite you in the arse. Exactly one year after an awful experience in the Berkshires, I still need to try to get money back from the state park system. See "Gut Instinct," 7/9/12.) I returned to the Casco motel and showered, and we checked out. Wouldn't you know it? It started raining ever-so-lightly just as we exited the parking lot.

When you are burned out, hanging around a campground doing practically nothing can be just the ticket. That was my plan for the day. I erected the tent and made the boys grilled sandwiches (turkey and tomato for them and cheddar cheese and tomato for me) in our pie iron. S'mores all around after that. It rained as I sat on the beach. Didn't care. It rained as I swam in the lake. Didn't care. It rained as the boys played tetherball. Didn't care. Dinner was simple: hot dogs, raw veggies with salad dressing, lemonade, and more s'mores. (In case you're wondering, we are crazy about s'mores.) The rain stopped barely long enough for dinner but started right up again as we said our "goodnights."

Was this some kind of joke?

I woke up with a stronger version of the headache I took to bed. Regrettably, the tent and everything in it got wet during the night. Water came in from the ground as well as overhead. If I happened to roll off my Therm-a-Rest pad, my sleeping bag suddenly felt damp and cold from landing in a small puddle. The sky, meanwhile, was solid clouds. Looking up and seeing no hope of meteorological improvement anytime soon, I decided to check out of the campground and back into the motel. So that's exactly what we did after eating cereal in the rain.

I tried to nap in our room but couldn't because the boys were too noisy. We headed down to Naples for a late lunch at Rick's Cafe where I spent way too much money. Back at the motel, I sat under the roof overhang tapping away on my iPad. Rain was still pouring from the sky -- yes, all day! -- and I was still pouring bottles of water down my throat in an effort to rid myself of my brain pain. My strategy appeared to finally be working. After enjoying about thirty minutes of a comfortable noggin, I noticed a dozen Canada geese coming toward me across the lawn. I told the boys, and Charlie came out to have a look. However, instead of very carefully approaching them to get a better glimpse or simply standing still, my energetic seven year old jumped in the air at the very moment I bent down behind him to kiss the top of his head. His head knocked hard into my mouth, giving me yet a new head pain!

Reading this, you might think to yourself: "Oh, just a freak accident." Well, not exactly. This is the second time in three years Charlie has bonked me in the mouth with his exuberance. The first time he leapt in the air to greet me at preschool pickup. A fat lip followed a bloody lip. This time the skin under my lower lip turned purple, and I had no ready access to an ice pack like before. Our room had no refrigerator, and the ice in my cooler in the car had melted. I could have searched for the motel owner or gotten in the car to find a store. I did neither. Too much trouble. Pretty lousy day all around, but my steak dinner at Applebee's was quite good.


By morning, the weather had improved, so I spread the wet tent and fly out in the motel parking lot to dry. (There had been a few other visitors the first night, but we were alone the second.) I was the first of the day to claim a nonreservable site (our old one, in fact) when the campground office opened for that purpose at 8 a.m. Before setting up camp, we induged in a delicious breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and bacon we couldn't resist at a nearby cafe.

As I stood at my SUV unloading our stuff, a campground hostess drove by in her cart, and we struck up a conversation about tarps. I'd noticed that most tents in the park had large ones suspended overhead to protect them from rain. I had a fly -- like a second tent you put over your first tent -- but in certain curcumstances it had not been enough. Definitely not enough several years ago when we got drenched in Camden, Maine, and not enough here in Casco. As a rule, I generally don't take the boys camping if rain is predicted, though we have also been caught off guard. (Killington, Vermont, last summer comes to mind.) When you consider that we've been camping in state parks as a family since my seven year old was four, I would say we've had very good luck overall. However, I've now experienced getting wet too many times to not do something about it. The hostess suggested buying a tarp. Reluctant to shell out more money after unexpectedly having to get a motel room, I decided instead to try making the ground cloth an air cloth.

While the boys resumed their tetherball competition, I spent an hour or more attaching our kelly green plastic sheet to trees and a picnic table. I extended thin ropes affixed to the corners of the cloth to both others previously attached to the fly and ropes the hostess recovered for me at abandoned campsites. My end result was not great or pretty, but I was willing to give it a try. It looked saggy, if you must ask. Still, it would divert rainfall from most of the tent unless we experienced a heavy downpour, in which case it would probably fail.

I didn't make it to the beach until after lunch. By then the Fourth of July visitors were pouring in in droves. My sons played in the water and on the sand and grass with toys and sports equipment I'd brought. Typical brothers-style, they argued over being hit by a ball or tagging the wrong base. Then they'd have to change activities or take a break from one another. That evening, tired from the motel-campground yo-yoing and the boys' squabbles, I suggested we go to a brand new dine-in movie theater in a nearby community. Seeing Despicable Me 2 proved to be a great idea.


The good news: the rain had finally stopped. The bad? A heat wave had begun. Luckily, we could cool off in a lake. I was very grateful to be stationed near the water. That is, until Charlie got hit in the eye by a paddle the next day! This is why KAYAKS ARE NOT ALLOWED IN THE SWIMMING AREA, people! Meanwhile, I was kicking back with my light beach reading. Not! I was taking notes on a book called Setting Limits With Your Strong-Willed Child. A friend gave it to me to help me deal with the common parenting issue of a child who constantly tests boundaries. My boys are complete opposites temperamentally, and that can create a lot of conflict on a daily basis.

We were excited to watch the fireworks over beautiful Long Lake that night. The lake is close to my heart as I went to a sleepaway Christian Science camp on its shores for six summers many years ago, following the lead of my mother who also attended as a camper and served as a counselor for a record eighteen consecutive summers! (She grew up in Manhattan so really needed a cool respite in the hot months.) To head off as many problems as possible, I decided to make a dry run to the Naples causeway to check out where we could park that evening. The temperature being above 90 degrees, we needed ice cream as well.

We had an early dinner at the campsite before returning to the causeway for the display. Well, wouldn't you know it? By some weird coincidence, we wound up standing right between the friendly Canadian couple in an adjacent site and two boys who had played with Charlie at the campground. Well, wouldn't you know it? Part II. The Strong-Willed One complained about being sleepy as soon as we arrived on the causeway. He's young and very physically active throughout the day every day. But Christopher and I were not about to miss the once-a-year event in another state. So Charlie, enterprising little fellow that he is, lay down on a nearby patch of grass and proceeded to fall sound asleep. Yes, that's right. He was completely conked out through the entire fireworks show, booms, hisses, squeaks, oohs, ahhs, and cheers notwithstanding.


The next morning we slept in as much as you can at a full campground the day after the Fourth, had a nice hot breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, and drove to the Naples Library to charge devices. I know what you're thinking: charge devices on a camping trip? Good question. Well, I would like to say that I absolutely, unequivocally, 100 percent ban the usage of devices on such nature trips. Unfortunately, I can't. I allow them when we are driving -- and/or if a child is not cooperating to the point at which focusing on a screen is the only thing that helps. As a full-time single mother almost ten years running, I'm not going to apologize if I whip out an iSomething to appease a situation. My iPhone needs to be kept charged at all times for emergencies, and I like to stay up on the news even when I'm sleeping outdoors. Most importantly, however, the library was AIR CONDITIONED!

We had not spent a lot of time just hanging out at the campground, but I was already getting antsy. I am not someone who can just relax on a beach for two weeks straight. I am also not someone who likes to go, go, go! Vacation time should be a mix, in my opinion. I was ready to climb a mountain. The excessive heat was continuing, so it would have to be a small one. My younger son will tell you he doesn't like to hike -- on a flat trail, that is. Yet he likes to climb mountains, bag peaks.

The following day I wanted to rent canoes or kayaks to take advantage of the spectacular Maine waterways or, to be accurate, one spectacular Maine waterway. Regrettably, it was too hot for the former activity by the time we emerged from the library, and we needed to obtain a boat for the latter. So we settled for lunch and, natch, ice cream. (I was happy to return to the Lakeside Dairy Bar as a cute young server the day before had called me "sweetheart." I do not lie. Listen, when you are fifty-one and unattached -- and pretty much also unavailable due to your 24/7 solo-parenting duties -- being called "sweetheart" by an attractive male half your age is the highlight of your day. The HIGHLIGHT. Unfortunately, I was brought right back down to Earth that very same night when one of Charlie's friends, age 8, told me at the fireworks display that he thought I was Charlie's grandmother. Oh, geez. Sweetheart vs. grandmother in the same day! Hmm.) The 90-degree temperature precluded us from doing anything physical, so we returned to the campground to crash on the beach and cool off in Sebago Lake. It was not a bad choice, frankly.

Who would want to do anything else?

We got up and out fairly early on Saturday to climb Douglas Mountain before the heat set in. The one-hour circuitous route in the Town of Sebago was perfect for the day, albeit buggy. Charlie found two frogs along the trail, and we climbed the stone tower at the top. On the way back, we investigated canoe and kayak rentals in Bridgton. I wasn't thrilled with that option as it was not close by, and we would have to pull the canoe ourselves up the street (and even slightly uphill!) to Highland Lake because the shop only had one delivery person who couldn't be tied up with us. I swung through Naples next. Unfortunately, the outfitter was out on the road making deliveries and had locked up his office. Rats! The following day, Sunday, would be our last as we needed to return to Massachusetts. I wanted an arrangement that was easy and not taxing on me since I would be driving more than two and a half hours the fifth day of a heat wave.

Often in life trying to force something to happen creates the opposite effect. But when you let go, the very thing you want to happen may just come to you. That's how it transpired for us.

Disappointed but resigned to the fact that we probably would not be able to pull off canoeing or kayaking the next morning, I stood at our campsite contemplating repacking the car when a truck rattling its way up the road drew my attention. I looked up and, in probably the most serendipitous moment of the trip, could not believe my eyes. It was a pickup with "Sebago Kayak Company" emblazoned on the driver's door and hauling a trailer loaded with the colorful boats! So that's where the kayak outfitter had gone to deliver boats! Our campground! My next challenge was to stop the moving vehicle as it rounded the bend in the road. I couldn't very easily flag the driver down on foot because he was driving too fast, and I would have to cut through someone else's site to get to him. I had one shot at alerting him, basically. So I just went for it. "We want a kayak!" I yelled. Since it was blisteringly hot, the driver's side window was open, and he heard me. "We just went to your office!" I added.

"I'll swing around," he replied.

We made the deal right then and there. I chose my boats, and he lowered them from the rack. I was way too zonked to take the boys out for a paddle that afternoon, but Ted agreed to leave one two-person kayak for Charlie and me and one single for Christopher on my site overnight. He was in a hurry to return to his shop, so I didn't write him a check that day. My swim in the lake that afternoon felt especially refreshing knowing we would get our boating in after all! It had been a very good day, indeed.

The heat had still not let up by morning, which made being on Sebago Lake in kayaks the perfect final activity before leaving Maine. And, boy, did we need to cool off! It took us nine-and-a-half hours to get home -- a perfect storm of heavy holiday traffic, bathroom breaks, snack and meal stops, a gasoline fill-up, frequent cold water-bottle replenishment, backtracking through South Portland after missing a key turnoff, slower driving than usual to study license plates (tying last year's record, we counted thirty-two states to and from Maine), and even losing a tooth while biting into an apple at the Kennebunk Service Plaza!

Needless to say, the trip home -- just like the vacation itself -- was pretty grueling. But we were together coping with extreme weather, getting exercise, and reveling in summer. Fortunately, we like adventures, so our week away was a success. It was not a comfortable trip by any means; it was a challenging one.

It was our kind of trip.

*See "Vacation Box of Chocolates: Part I (Franconia Fiasco Edition)," 1/6/13

Summer 2013: "Thou Shalt Have No Wasted Days!"

Summer vacation starts for us in two days. At noon, to be precise. And not a moment too soon, let me tell you!

Indeed, it's a very late dismissal this year because of a very snowy winter, especially the second half of it. All five allotted snow days were used, pushing classes much too close to the Fourth of July weekend for my liking.

What that means on the other end, of course, is that our break from school will be that much shorter. Only two months long, to be exact. And when I say "exact," I really mean it. Not one day extra, not one day less. Honestly, I think there might have been an uprising if summer vacation had been reduced any more.

Still, two months. TWO MONTHS! Ugh. I shudder to think about resuming the school-day routine on August 28 when the days are blisteringly hot and steamy.

Speaking of BLISTERINGLY HOT AND STEAMY, our weather of late has only compounded the agony of this extra week of classes (and Field Days and a field trip to Boston). Northeastern Massachusetts has felt more like Texas than one hour south of the northernmost state in New Engand. Today is the third day of a heat wave, generally defined in the region as three days in a row of 90-degree temperatures or higher. In fact, yesterday was the hottest day of the year so far with the mercury climbing to 95 degrees, tying the record for that day set in 1976.


With such an abbreviated vacation, parents may feel added pressure to make the most of it. I know I do. "Thou shalt have no wasted days." The Eleventh Commandment.

Like many -- dare I say, most? -- parents of school-age kids, I am DONE with the school year. Caught-on-fire-marshmallow-over-a-campfire done. I'm weary of getting up at a certain early time, preparing breakfast for the troops, making lunches or putting $2.75 in labeled envelopes for lunch money, choosing clothes for my boys to wear, reviewing their homework, and packing their backpacks. I've had enough hurrying off to school -- either walking or driving (when we're tardy). And I'm tired of having to race over to the school at 2:55 p.m. for pickup, followed later in the day by a sports practice or game, the making of dinner, and the overseeing of homework. Everything gets pushed back too far into the evening, cutting into my alone time.

As a full-time single mother coming up on a decade, I require "me time" to decompress -- and, at the risk of sounding too New Agey, get centered from my daily stress. Doing what I need to do to nourish my brain and/or senses -- whether that be Facebooking; reading a book, magazine, or news article; e-mailing; or watching TV (I've really taken to nighttime dramas with catchy one-word names such as Revenge, Nashville, Scandal, the now-canceled Deception, and Motive, my latest -- I stay up too late then predictably feel and look like the wreck of the Hesperus the next day.

Isn't what I really need sleep? Well, yes, yet I crave my quiet time after the boys have gone to bed. Anyway, I vow to do better the next night, but invariably it happens again and again and again. It's a vicious cycle.


Getting through the rigid school year requires discipline, adherence to a schedule, and tolerance of repetition. SO MUCH REPETITION! God Almighty. Personally, I prefer things to be loosey goosey. Get up whenever. Cobble together some random food. Roll down the driveway as the spirit moves me. Do I sound like a slacker bachelor? You have the right idea. I am the female equivalent. I just happen to have two children.

But not even the summer can be truly loosey goosey when said children are young, as mine are. They wake you with their noise. They need you to get them to their morning day camp at their school, of all places, making it feel awfully like a school-year dropoff. They need to be wearing clean clothes that they didn't wear the day before. They need to have money in their pockets for a drink and/or snack. They need you to pick them up at noon (or whenever, and from wherever). And they need you to deliver them to and from their next activity wearing the proper attire and carrying the proper equipment, if necessary. They still need to eat meals. They still need to be prompted to brush their teeth and bathe. And they still need to be coaxed into bed.

Loosey Goosey? Hardly.

Unless they go to sleepaway camp or spend a good part of July and August living elsewhere with a divorced parent or other relative, kids are generally home a lot more during the summer than the school year. And while that can certainly be wonderful, it can also be very challenging. Most parents need to work during the day, and they also need a break from child care. Siblings get on each others' nerves, especially in the very hot or rainy weather and when they are around each other too much because they don't have enough to do or enough to do separate from one another. Days can be long and arduous for parents when the squabbles and physical fights begin.

So while a school year is predictable, summer is more of an unknown quantity. It is also very individual. My family's summer will not look like your family's summer, and your family's summer will not look like your neighbors' family summer. But if you live in my community and send your kids to the public school like I do, then our summers will have one thing in common this year: they will be very short.

Make your summer a good one!